for every human woe?

"I wonder," he said, sitting down and taking David on his knee--"I
wonder if it is best to bear things one's self, or to let another share
the burden?"

Easily--oh, how easily!--could Fortune have answered this--have told him
that, whether he wished it or not, two did really bear his burdens, and
perhaps the one who bore it secretly and silently had not the lightest
share. But she did not speak: it was not possible.

"How shall I hear of you Miss Williams?" he said, after a long silence.
"You are not likely to leave the Dalziel family?"

"No," she answered; "and if I did, I could always be heard of, the
Dalziels are so well known hereabouts. Still, a poor wandering governess
easily drops out of people's memory."

"And a poor wandering tutor too. But I am not a tutor any more, and I
hope I shall not be poor long. Friends can not lose one another; such
friends as you and I have been. I will take care we shall not do it,
that is, if--but never mind that. You have been very good to me, and I
have often bothered you very much, I fear. You will be almost glad to
get rid of me."

She might have turned upon him eyes swimming with tears--woman's
tears--that engine of power which they say no man can ever resist; but I
think, if so, a woman like Fortune would have scorned to use it. Those
poor weary eyes, which could weep oceans alone under the stars, were
perfectly dry now--dry and fastened on the ground, as she replied, in a